


i'll return before you know it

by awkwardedgeworth



Series: Aria [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 21:38:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11998449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardedgeworth/pseuds/awkwardedgeworth
Summary: To Yuri, he sends a picture of Zarina holding her shoes in one hand as the waves try to pull her into the sea.Miss you, he simply says before putting his phone away and toeing his shoes off.in which otabek takes a trip after his retirement and realizes a few things





	i'll return before you know it

**Author's Note:**

> a thank you to starkysnarks for helping me with this fic regarding what otabek's father would call him (endearment wise)! ''ulym" means my son.
> 
> this will likely be my last update before i go back to school, so please enjoy. if you're also returning, good luck in your upcoming post-secondary applications, midterms, lab exams and finals!!

He sips the last of his black tea before shrugging on his leather jacket, padding around in the dark apartment to grab his carry on and backpack. 

Yuri, predictably, had fallen asleep right after they'd gotten back from Worlds. The exhausting seventeen hour flight from Gangneung to Moscow had taken a toll on both of them, Otabek nearly knocking himself unconscious as they'd waited for their luggage to come tumbling down the carousal.

"I have to leave now," He says, crouching near Yuri's head, hand stroking his long hair.

He'll miss this the most in his trip abroad— the quiet moments when they're both not champions, scrutinized by Yakov and cameras, but just two people in love. Most of their lives are open to the public, and thus, Otabek is willing to fight tooth and claw to keep the parts the public doesn't see closely guarded. It's only between them, and it should stay that way.

Yuri grumbles something unintelligible, burrowing further into the blanket.

"Yura."

"Change your ticket."

"I can't," He says as Yuri moans into the pillow and sits up. "You can just walk me to the door, you need sleep."

"Damn right I do," Yuri says between kissing his lips, pushing him towards the door, their apartment dark save for the weak floor lamp flickering in the corner. They untangle their limb when Otabek's cellphone buzzes with the driver's arrival.

Yuri sulks at the door, hair tied sloppily back. Otabek smooths the shirt he's wearing with a hand, curving up Yuri's neck and feeling his pulse beating. It's sluggish, though he knows a few underhanded tricks that could get it fluttering.

"Text me when you arrive."

"I will. Do you have all the flight numbers?"

"Yep. So does Mila and your cousin," Yuri's green eyes look dark from this angle, and he bends his head down once more.

Though their relationship started with distance, the past year had been the opposite of that, the furthest they've been from each other was when one of them were on the sidelines while watching the other one skate.

Right now, they don't want to be separated, but Otabek doesn't worry, chasing Yuri's mouth once last time before tugging his cap low and dragging his suitcase behind him.

 

_Almaty_

He returns to his roots before setting off on his trip, hopping off the plane just in time to catch the broad horizon above his head turn from blue to oranges and pinks. The cap doesn't leave his head until he swings open the front gate and sees his aunt standing at the doorway with a smile.

"Welcome home, botam," She smells of crushed spices and warm desserts, her work-roughened hands pulling him inside. She never seems satisfied with how much food he puts away, always piling on more things on his plate in her own motherly, doting fashion.

When he was little, he used to think the house he grew up in was huge, but now as he retraces his footsteps, everything looks miniature in size, making him feel like he's stepping into an alternate universe. He greets his uncle who's running down the stairs with a stack of papers for his lecture tucked under one elbow. Uncle clasps Otabek's shoulders and tussles his hair.

"Zarina is next?"

"Yes," Otabek offers him coffee, two milk and no sugar. He stirs his own cup as the morning news jingle faintly permeates the still sleepy atmosphere of his childhood home. Sacha jumps into his lap and he rubs her head with a finger, "I'm leaving at ten tonight so I'll land there just in time for breakfast."

"Suiktim!" His aunt's voice calls, "You're going to be late!"

His uncle shoves the rest of the toast into his mouth and downs his coffee, gathering the papers into his arms before swallowing with difficulty, "Dinner with us tonight! Your friends can come too!"

Otabek's about to return to his breakfast when his friends all storm into the kitchen, crowing about their Beka coming back home before manhandling him out of the house, much to his aunt's amusement, and stuffing him into the back seat of Temir's car.

That sets the tone for the rest of his visit home, but he makes sure to mail Yuri a postcard before boarding his next flight.

 

_London_

"This is more like brunch, isn't it?"

Zarina shrugs as she smoothly enters the rental Otabek is driving, placing her bag between her legs as he peels out of the guest parking and back onto the main road, "Morning traffic, what can you expect?"

"How's your research?" He asks as they make their way out of Queen Mary University. The GPS chirps at him to take a left in eight hundred meters.

"The usual, I've been crunching numbers into a graph all morning."

"Still biomedical engineering?"

"Yes. Go straight instead, there's a short cut," She advises him.

They sit outside even though it's overcast and slightly chilly. He teases her about her accent when they revert to Kazakh, batting away a cherry tomato when she flicks it discreetly at him. His cousin looks happy despite the hastily covered dark circles and frizzy hair that she'd tucked into a bun, satisfied with the road she's treading.

He'd taken off his sunglasses, admiring the buildings around them when he reaches for his phone, snapping a couple of pictures and posting them to Instagram. The notifications start to climb and he shuts them off, feeling the chill in the air.

If he closes his eyes, it would be a fraction of what the ice feels like in a rink.

"How is Yuri taking your retirement?" She asks once the waiter has cleared their table, running off to get their bill.

The thing about retirement is that it hasn't set in yet for him. In a way, this trip so far feels like a small vacation, and he doesn't know how well he'll take it once it actually sinks in.

"Resting, it's off-season now. The most he'll do is conditioning exercises and brain-storming with Victor."

"This is it?" She asks, "You're really retiring?"

When they were little, he pursued ice-skating because it was one of the things that he excelled at, watching his cousin wobble around on fawn-like legs as she clearly doesn't have the grace to stay upright for more than a few seconds. Throughout his career, it shifted into making his country proud, fulfilling his own wishes of doing something  _different_ , something that can bring joy to other people. Eventually, it turned into something he looked forward to.

The ice is where Yuri is, but he won't be there anymore.

"I guess so," He tugs the brim of his cap lower when he sees a camera lens wink from one corner, peeking out of a brick-walled building. "It's been announced."

"You never told me why you left," She says, sliding her credit card to the waiter and kicking him below the table to prevent him from paying his share of the bill. They leave the restaurant in record time, Otabek expertly maneuvering the car out of the tight parking spot before the paparazzi descend on them like vultures to a carcass.

"Why I left..." He begins, murmuring as he places one elbow on the window, watching his sister's hair whip around her face as she also, rolls down the window and releases her bun. "Do you remember that one philosophy lecture you told me about?"

Zarina turns her head curiously at him at the sudden change of subject; the first year of her undergraduate degree was a very long time ago, "About free will?"

"That one. It's something like that I suppose."

As he merges onto M23, Zarina tilts her head to the side and looks at the scenery whizzing by, thoughtful.

"Free will," She says, almost saying it to feel the word between her lips. "Free will. That's something I expect from you."

Under the clouds, he momentarily turns his eyes away from the road and towards her face.

"It is?"

"It's very you," She closes the windows, leaning back against the seat and closing her eyes. "Do wake me once we've reach Brighton. You'll love the chalk cliffs."

To Yuri, he sends a picture of Zarina holding her shoes in one hand as the waves try to pull her into the sea, white foam covering her ankles, the colour reflected on the tall, looming cliffs near her.

_Miss you_ , he simply says before putting his phone away and toeing his shoes off.

 

_Toronto, Scarborough_

He walks the fine line between jet lag and correct Circadian rhythm, bracing himself just in time as JJ tackles him like he's a rugby player instead of a skater. JJ smells like detergent and something piney.

Behind him, Isabella rolls her eyes.

"Hungry?"

He replies with tired nod, wrapping Isabella into a hug before shrugging his backpack on. The happy couple leads him to their car, and Otabek peers out the window in a groggy haze, replacing the stores in his head that used to exist eight years ago with new ones as the vehicle weaves between the neighbourhood he once treaded, fifteen and running after JJ.

Scarborough changed in many small ways. Otabek would be surprised if it didn't.

They let him stagger to a guest bedroom where he knocks out for a couple of hours before padding out at ten, the skies outside already black as Isabella grins and points to the seven boxes of pizza on the table.

The Leroy-Yang residence quickly fills up as Otabek greets his old high school friends, all who are pleasantly surprised to find him sitting in the kitchen. Nostalgia tastes like the burn of alcohol and the feel of round-edged photographs with bad flash, muted laughter in the night as they go through pictures after picture, tangible memories giving way to digital ones uploaded online.

A dimly lit picture of young JJ with several spots of acne next to Isabella as he drags a reluctant Otabek into their circle of friends. 

JJ's prom and graduation, a beaming smile on his face. 

Otabek's and Isabella's prom and graduation. His suit next to Isabella's midnight blue gown. They're both grinning.

"Retiring at twenty-two? No, you're twenty-three soon, aren't you?"

"That's how skating works," JJ says, sipping a mix of apple juice and whatever headache-inducing spirit is in his cup. They've gravitated towards the floor after demolishing most of the pizza, Otabek dragging a blanket over the shoulders of his old lab partner.

"What's next?" A classmate asks.

Otabek tears his eyes away from her blonde hair, sipping his drink with a shadow of a smile. His head is warm and fuzzy in the good way, "Who knows?"

"Sarah, twenty-two is when we start living," His old lab partner laughs, dizzily holding up her head before letting it flop back down, "Us mortals at least."

Someone throws a cushion at her for being a cheese ball, but he agrees, finding hollowness where his heart used to be full. He wonders, under the pretenses of laughing amongst his old friends as JJ throws his Uno cards at his face, claiming trickery, when it had started cracking.

In the morning after he wakes up with a pain where he'd slept funnily on the couch, he opens Yuri's text.

_Don't forget to stretch your knee_.

 

_Colorado Springs_

_Pikes Peak_ , he captions.

Leo nearly falls off a short rock he was standing on when he turns to see him flat on his stomach, "What are you doing?"

Otabek waves his phone at him, "Do you want a new profile picture?"

Leo amuses him and strikes a pose before the weather changes and they're racing to get back down to Leo's car, the uninterrupted blue skies now dark grey, white flakes falling around them. The snow turns into rain the closer they are to sea level.

"I forgot how fast weather changes here."

"Hopefully it'll last a day. It feels weird not to see your name on the assignments this year."

Leo had been assigned Skate Canada and Cup of China. Yuri is going to Skate America and NHK Trophy. He doesn't know how to feel about that too, so he keeps his mouth shut.

After playing a set for old time's sake and avoiding another injury to his still recovering liver by limiting his alcohol consumption, Otabek excuses himself from his old coach and the heat of the bar as his former rink-mates try to resurrect Leo.

"Good morning," He greets.

Yuri's voice is groggy, still rough with sleep, and Otabek feels a sudden yearning to hop onto the next flight back home, " _Are you drinking?_ "

"You can tell?"

" _No, I figure your old rink mates drag you to the bar. It's high honour for the World Champion to come to them_."

"It's just beer."

" _Learned your lesson with JJ?_ "

"Isabella is a gifted and dangerous amateur bartender."

Yuri sounds like he could be standing right behind him, humming into his phone as Otabek listens to the tell tale sounds of him opening Potya's dry mix, the pellets hitting the steel bowl, " _Know your limit_."

He refrains from saying,  _and play within it_ , since Yuri wouldn't understand the reference, "I will. Have fun at the rink."

He catches bits and pieces of Yuri, of what their life would possibly be like now that Otabek is retired and Yuri is still an active competitor. It's in stolen moments like this where the time zones line up and he's able to talk to him, the miles between them shrinking for two minutes. He still doesn't know how he feels about that except that it's different.

" _I will, bye_."

 

_Orlando_

"You couldn't stay longer?" His mother asks longingly as Otabek meets his parents for dinner at one of the many airport restaurants in Orlando International, sitting across him as his father sits next to her, grey spreading through his temples. Otabek is halfway through filling a postcard with a picture of an alligator biting an orange on the front to be mailed to Yuri when he lands in Incheon, the card sitting innocently next to him, tucked away from sight.

"I have another flight to catch, sorry."

She pokes her salmon sadly, eyes downcast. Now Otabek feels guilty. He can count on one hand the number of times he's been with them throughout his life, so he mostly talks throughout dinner and fill them in on how Yuri is doing and what Zarina is currently up to. He too, in a sense, miss his parents.

Until they breach the one topic he doesn't want to talk about. 

"And where are you going after this?" His father asks.

"South Korea, then further down south to visit a friend in Thailand. Maybe Indonesia next. Then Europe."

"November is the deadline for IELTS and TOEFL. The beginning of December is the last call they'll have for ACT and SAT, you could retake them again and get a better score for your applications," His father casually says, who's definitely chanting  _Princeton, Harvard, Dartmouth, Yale, Stanford, MIT, Cal Tech_ and  _John Hopkins_  mentally like Otabek could somehow read his mind.

Otabek puts a large piece of fish into his mouth and chews to avoid answering.

His mother gives him a large hug and kiss on the cheek outside security. A helpful attendant takes a group picture for them all, and when he's forty-thousand feet high in the air, he zooms in onto his father's face and sees disapproval written all over it.

 

_Seoul_

Seung-gil is busy being an assistant coach in the daytime, so Otabek learns how to amuse himself by visiting all of the tourist spots he missed the last time he's here, several months ago. 

South Korea, in the late summer, is like standing in a sauna.

Yuri loves it here; the free wifi helps.

He points to most of the things he wants, choosing to keep quiet rather than trying his hand in broken Korean. To Zarina, he expedites a box full of fancy face creams and waterproof make up. To Yuri, he sends a pair of leopard print runners. 

"Don't try to out drink me," Seung-gil advises later that night as they're sitting at a hole-in-the-wall, cracking open a bottle of soju as Otabek blinks.

Ah.

"Hasetsu?"

Seung-gil shoves a shot glass at him, topped with clear liquid, eyes burning, "Don't you even  _think_ about repeating what'd happened."

Otabek wisely keeps his mouth shut and swallows his drink. 

"I didn't think you'd go into coaching," Seung-gil won a bronze in Pyeongchang and several national titles consecutively before retiring at twenty-seven. "You didn't have any injuries too."

"I didn't think  _you_ would retire," His friend shoots back evenly, swatting his hand away from the grill, "No, wait a few more minutes before flipping. The char is the best part."

"I don't like it charred," He says and plucks the meat off, putting it on a dark leaf as he adds some slices of pickled vegetables and sauces. Their clothes will smell like smoke by tomorrow morning.

He makes Seung-gil's wraps, stuffing as much vegetables as he can as Seung-gil goes on and on about his coaching job. He accepts them quickly and swallows the wraps without chewing, too hungry to realize that Otabek had handed him one composing solely of vegetables and some pickled radishes.

After the second round, he returns to the table and pushes another bottle of soju to Seung-gil.

"Happy belated birthday."

Seung-gil's cheeks are a delicate pink in the bad lighting. He shoots Otabek a sloppy smile.

"Maybe I should return—"

"No," Seung-gil snatches the bottle out of his hands and expertly twists the top off even though he had trouble utilizing his chopsticks two minutes earlier. "'S'mine."

Otabek pulls up Seung-gil's former coach's number just in case, accepting another shot and carefully watching Seung-gil sway like a seaweed. A pink-cheeked seaweed that's calculating how much their bill is by the amount of empty plates.

"I can't read," Seung-gil squints at the bill.

Otabek smooths it out, "What did you say it was earlier?"

"Thirty-three thousand, five hundred and seventy-two won."

"It's thirty-three thousand, five hundred and eighty-two won."

Seung-gil teeters like a newborn fawn on their way home, and Otabek takes pity on him after the second pole that he unfortunately collided with, throwing an arm over Seung-gil and guiding him away from a dip on the sidewalk.

The early dawn is blessedly cooler, the sweat on their neck and back cooling. He gets a front row seat in Seung-gil's singing when the debauched one opens his mouth.

"It sounds sad," He absent mindedly murmurs, toeing off his shoes and wondering how he'll do that to Seung-gil before deciding that he's light enough to be carried. Seung-gil lets out an undignified noise as Otabek lifts him in a fireman's carry, babbling nonsense to him before he's lowered onto his bed.

"'S'supposed to be sad," Seung-gil says in English now, watching Otabek unlace his shoes. His head drops back down as he worms deeper into his bed, "Thank you."

The thing with retiring is that he has more time on his hands than he's used to.

He gives Seung-gil some water and painkillers on his bedside, closing the door before retiring to the pullout couch, arranging his body to he won't wake up with a bad back.

He listens to the faint traffic outside, the tick of the dialogue clock hanging on the wall, the breathing of Seung-gil's husky sleeping soundly in her crate in the corner, the even pound of his heart as his eyelids lull to a close.

He falls asleep to the thought of free will and what it means to him.

 

_Guangzhou, Bangkok, Jakarta, Denpasar_

He drops by a short visit to Guang Hong, passing on Leo's gifts and saying hello to the Chinese team as they smile and invite him for hot pot. He only stays a few hours before hopping on another plane further south, where Phichit tackle-hugs him and takes a selfie, uploading it as he blinks the flash out of his eyes.

"That wasn't supposed to have flash but wow, you don't even get shiny," Phichit coos at his phone. "You have such nice skin."

"It's the cabin air, it's so dry," He says, dragging his suitcase behind him as Phichit leads him to a car, blasting the AC and winking at him. 

"Welcome to Bangkok, city of angles, great city of immortals, magnificent city of the nine gems, seat of the king, city of royal palaces, home of the gods incarnate, erected by Vishvakarman at Indra's behest: Bangkok."

At his perplexed expression, Phichit nods sagely, "It's a mouthful I know. How was your plane ride?"

"Lots of turbulence," It was a good thing that he turned down Guang Hong's offer of dessert before hopping onto his flight.

"Yeah, the smaller Boeings get shaken around pretty badly," Phichit grins at him, "You're more familiar with this weather, right?"

"Mhm."

"I can imagine. Let's get you some food, you look like you're going to pass out."

There was a time where he hated flights and had a fear for throwing up. It quickly went away after Yakov's summer camp. From years of flight experience, Otabek forces something into his stomach as his land-legs refuses to cooperate with him. Phichit is trying to bite back a smile as he watches him sway slightly in his seat, the after effects of the turbulence still apparent. He eats his congee mournfully.

"You look like you can use some cendol."

The thought of a cold sugary drink, no matter how welcome it would be, does not sit well with him, "Maybe later."

Phichit moves him into a quiet tea shop full of people on summer holiday getting out of the humidity after a hasty lunch. Otabek sips on a strong cup of iced black tea while Phichit tries a concoction that looks like a straight injection of sugar into his veins.

"How's everyone so far?"

"They're good, itchy to get the season started," Otabek spots an advertisement for Phichit on Ice nearby. Maybe that's why there's five photographers trying to be stealthy outside.

To their chagrin, Otabek lowers his sunglasses slightly and waves, smirking.

They jump and disappear behind a van.

"You're such a little shit," Phichit says with awe in his voice. "What has Yuri done to you?"

Yuri is a familiar topic. It's a good topic, so are their former competitors. His family is a safe topic even, so long as Phichit doesn't talk about exams and tests.

"A little of this, a little of that."

"What an influence," Phichit grins, catching his straw between his smile and sucking. He's wearing something on his lip, Otabek realizes.

"Is that Colourpop?"

"Why yes it is!"

"I bought a set for Zarina while I was with Leo."

"Ooo, how lucky! International shipping here is so expensive, you'd think I'm living on the moon or something."

He zips up his thick hoodie and breathes in the familiar smell of the ice, snapping a picture of Phichit skating around with a hamster hat to Yuri. He wouldn't be able to come for the show, so Phichit insisted on him watching the rehearsal at least. Otabek feels very well treated, sitting in the front row as the ice show manager himself offers him food and drinks.

Phichit hugs him goodbye at the airport and Otabek wakes up in time to see the plane descend into Soekarno-Hatta.

The humidity clings to him as he drags his carry on behind him. He hops onto an uber and pronounces the hotel name crisply, nervous as the car shoots onto the highway.

He crashes in his hotel room, waking up hours later when the sun is properly in the sky, his phone going off.

"Good morning, zhanym."

" _Whoa, you just woke up?_ " Yuri asks over the phone. Otabek hears Yakov screaming at some poor junior skater— probably Ivan— in the background. He does the math; Yuri must be doing his first off-ice session of the day.

He rubs his face and finds his chin and jaw rough with prickly stubble, "Yeah."

" _I miss your morning voice_ ," Yuri laughs, " _What time is it over there?_ "

"Two in the afternoon? I'm not sure. Can you hold? I need to order food or I'll collapse."

" _Sure, sure_."

He Facetimes Yuri as he eats breakfast, demolishing the congee and meat bun in swift bites. Yuri teases him about his impressive five o'clock shadow and Otabek throws his shirt to cover his phone while he shaves, chuckling when Yuri orders him to stop blocking his show.

He does his favorite thing and hops onto a bike, turning his GPS on and weaving among the traffic, liking the ordered chaos of the streets, food stalls dotting the sidewalk as he sees a little girl on a moped grin at him, holding onto her father's waist. He smiles beneath his visor and guns his bike, accelerating ahead.

_Monumen Nasional_ , he captions as he waits for his fried rice, sipping on something called teh botol.

_Bottled tea_ , Phichit translates for him when he sends the picture over,  _try cendol next!_

The man manning the stall looks at him funnily as he adds an order of cendol, Otabek catching the word  _foreigner, ice-skating,_ and  _tan_. He looks down at his bare arms and notices that he blends into their population easily like he'd been in Bangkok.

He snaps Yuri a picture of a hungry cat stalking a nearby bird, rubbing sunscreen onto his arms after he finishes his meal.

Having free time on his hand is dangerous, his minds starts to wander.

Usually they go to Yuri. What's he currently doing? What's the current time in Moscow? Is he icing and exercising his knee like his physio is telling him to? This has been the longest they've been apart so far and Otabek finds it bearable, though he doesn't know how Yuri is coping since their conversations have been halted with whatever picture he sends.

It's not bad, but he misses him. There's an ache inside his chest.

Jakarta would be bad for Yuri, he decides, there are lots of malls here and Yuri would be an unstoppable force.

Free will, he thinks again. It means the power of acting on one's own discretion.  _Taking fate by the neck and throttling it_ , a voice says in his head, sound suspiciously like Yuri or perhaps Zarina.

He wouldn't mind trying his hand in philosophy if he went to university. He was supposed to go, remembering the international admissions page to the university near Zarina. Sports science for his bachelors, then a masters in sports medicine afterwards. It would go hand in hand with the medals he won.

But it never felt right. Yes, there's still that want in his chest of learning, or pursuing education— he remembers how much anatomy and biology made sense to him in Toronto, sitting under fluorescent lights as in his high school classroom, how easily the Latin names stuck in his head and how much he enjoyed it— but even now, with two weeks until the start of the season, it feels absolutely wrong, like his body is screaming at him to return to the ice.

 

_Geneva, Lausanne_

After spending his summer in the humid tropics, the cooler mountain climate of Switzerland is welcoming. 

"You're coming back, aren't you?" Chris says as he leans on the barrier, his students emptying out for their off-ice session.

Otabek looks up, breath condensing in front of him in small clouds, "How do you know?"

Chris's smile is gentle, "You carried your skates with you, isn't it obvious?"

He's grateful that Chris doesn't point out how predictable he is by lugging his skates around the world, choosing to sit back and lean his arms on the barriers.

There's a slightly up-beat French chanson playing over the speakers, and he closes his eyes, body moving along the music as he slips into hasty footwork, twisting and bending his body. Deep edges. Large, sweeping counters. Twizzles. His exhibition routine with Yuri laughing.

"Why'd you stop?" Chris calls from the sides.

"I don't feel it."

Chris glides up to him silently, "Feel what?" His green eyes are framed by a set of worried eyebrows.

"...I don't feel joy," He hasn't been feeling happy the past couple of months, that's for sure, restless and waiting to hop onto another plane and switch his environment in one go. It's only taken five months of travelling abroad and seven turbulence before he came up to the fact that no, he's not happy with retiring.

When he spins around, Chris seems to understand, pushing him to get his skates off while speaking in rapid French to his husband. Then Otabek is shoved out of the rink.

"I hope you don't get carsick," Chris says, waving goodbye with the promise of delivering Otabek's luggage to his house. Chris's husband drives up in front of the rink and leans over the console to pop the passenger door open.

"Otabek, right?" English. This is good. Otabek's knowledge only extends to AP French in high school and he no longer remembers the verbs and conjugations he'd drilled into his head.

He hastily turns, "Yes, I didn't catch your name?"

"Julian," The husband smiles, looking like he'd stepped out of a corporate meeting in contrast to Otabek looking like he'd just spent several hours in the cabin of a plane. "We've had several people like you now." 

"What do you mean?"

Julian steps on the accelerator, merging onto the freeway as they exit the city proper. A sign that states  _Lausanne 63km_  whizzes past them in a blur.

"People who are lost and wandering, that's what you're doing, no?"

 

"Sara came here by herself several summers ago," Chris says over dinner once Julian drove Otabek back. He feels more human after a hot shower, and is now treated to dinner and Chris's excellent culinary skills. "She was feeling lost so we took her to the Olympic Museum like you did today. It helped, from what she told us when she came back."

He stays quiet, poking a stray brussel sprouts that has escaped its group on his plate.

"We don't have to talk about this," Chris amends easily.

"No," He starts, looking up and darting his eyes back down again. "It's—You're right. You're absolutely right. I was running away."

"You still like skating, yes?" Chris gently asks, nudging a cup of wine towards him. Julian is bustling in the kitchen a room away where he's making his magical fruit tarts for dessert.

"You said so yourself, I still carried my skates on vacation," Julian joins them but pulls out a worn paperback from his apron, sliding on his reading glasses to give them some privacy. His fork absently pats the plate for a piece of potato until Chris nudges one into its path.

"Then it's not skating that caught you like this, is it?"

He shrugs, "I don't think retiring is sitting well with me. I want to go back."

"But...?"

"I don't know. I made a promise with my parents that I would go get a degree and all the works," Otabek smiles at himself. "They have high expectations of me. An athlete isn't one of them."

"They're in academics," A statement. Julian flips a page and takes a sip of his wine.

"They're engineers," He nods to his salmon, thinking of the space book Zarina had read out loud to him when they were young and fought over who gets to stick the felt spaceship onto the exposed velcro cover. Even now, he could look up at the sky and point out all the major constellations, wanting to impress his parents when they come home from Florida. "They work for NASA."

"Prestigious engineers with a son in athletics," Chris drinks half of his wine, "That's not rare. One of our Swiss skaters just quit several weeks ago to pursue medical school. She could have given Mila a run for her money in two years if she continued."

Otabek had a feeling that Chris would be a good counselor by how many questions he's deflecting and is instead, getting him to talk while Julian continues to read. 

"They don't approve of our jobs," Not an extra-curricular, as his father had called it. Not a hobby either. Being an athlete is a full-time job that has more work put in than most people would think. He can't even take normal cold medication unless he wants to fail the post-competition drug test. "The application is due in January."

"It's September still, maybe you should visit your parents and talk."

"I doubt it'll work," He says as he lets Julian replace his empty plate with his famous fruit tart. 

Chris fills up his cup with more wine, "You can stay here as long as you like, we won't tell Yuri."

The notion that his wavering retirement would be kept secret is kind, and he shakily smiles at Chris before clinking his glass, surrendering to the warm fuzzy feeling alcohol gives him.

Otabek waits until Leo is back from Skate Canada, having cleaned Chris's backyard for lack of things to do since he couldn't always hang by his shoulder and watch the junior skaters skate. The rhododendrons are looking spectacularly swell, if he say so himself.

" _Sup?_ " Leo greets, beaming happily as he jogs on the treadmill, his skin flushed. Otabek thinks of the freedom he has with his diet and pinches his stomach forlornly. 

"Congrats on silver."

Leo sighs, flattening his mouth into a line, " _Sneaky Minami got gold again. He's having a good start of the season this year. Thanks, though_." 

"I thought your footwork in the jive was very nice. Clean," He then remembers a lost memory, grinning at the camera and causing Leo to stiffen, "Any ice dancers coming up to you for a partner switch?"

Leo had loved dancing, even back when they were in Juniors together, tiny and only being able to execute doubles. Otabek had sincerely thought that Leo would have gone into ice dancing in the future.

" _A little too late for that, I think,_ " Leo laughs.

In Otabek's head, he didn't really think anything could be too late.

" _Is something the matter?_ " There's a crease between Leo's eyebrows as his friend jabs several buttons in front of him, slowing the pace of the treadmill until he's only walking. " _You look like you want to say something_."

"Is my face that easy to read?"

" _Well, I've known you for quite some time now_ ," Leo smiles.

"I've been thinking..." He trails off, "About coming back."

Leo falls off the treadmill. His phone, which Otabek had been viewing out of, zooms towards the floor in a blur, the camera picking up a grey cushy mat before tumbling over several times, static crashing over the speakers. Otabek sees black.

"Leo!"

Leo's flushed face comes into view before the camera is attacked by his shirt in an attempt to wipe the screen. Leo shoves his earbuds back in, " _Don't surprise me like that!_ "

"You're the one who surprised me."

Leo ignores that, " _You're really thinking about coming out of retirement? What brought it on? Are you sure you want to come back or are you just missing the ice?_ "

"I'm not happy," He shrugs, looking out into Chris's backyard at the faraway Swiss Alps. "It's like an itch that's about to surface, I feel restless without skating and I want to come back."

When he looks at Chris's students, he feels jealous of them freely expressing their emotions. He misses every part of training, the early wake up calls, the restricting diets, the burn of his muscles after off-ice sessions and the blast of crisp air when he walks into Yuri's home rink, the three eagles beaming proudly down at him from the walls.

Leo's expression is understanding, "Are you coming back for Worlds? You can do the Challenger Series."

"No, I want to smooth out some things first," A plan forms in his head as he says it. "I'm going to stay in Geneva with Chris for a little while longer."

"Travel bug aren't you?" Leo grins, "Well that sounds like a good plan to me. Have you told Yuri?"

Otabek pauses, considers.

"No, I'll tell him another time."

 

He's never one to sit still around the house. During competition seasons, it's different, but once the ice is ripped away from him, Otabek finds himself filled with unexplained energy and deep cleans Chris's bathroom and kitchen so well that Julian thought they had hired a cleaning lady instead of rooming a former world champion in men's singles.

Otabek still sleeps in, but he builds his endurance up again, jogging to the market when the sun is still hiding behind the clouds, juggling tonight's dinner in his hands as he tries to stuff Swiss francs in the wallet Chris had lent him.

He skates after hours, working on his compulsories, returning to basics. Months off the ice isn't enough to dull his skills, but he takes his time making sure that his landing is still solid before attempting quads.

" _Chris sent me a video of you working on your edges_ ," Yuri says one day, watching Otabek stretch over the bed to grab his reading glasses off the bedside table, " _Are you coming out of retirement?_ "

Otabek nearly falls on the floor but manages to keep his balance, "No, I was bored and Chris had sharpened some skates."

" _Ah_ ," Yuri nods, Otabek is treading dangerous waters here. " _Are you doing anything special for your birthday? It's coming up soon_."

Yuri would be participating in Skate America on his birthday, "Not really. Julian's thinking of pulling all of us to the pub, but who knows."

He has a plan to tell Yuri of his return, but it will need two things: time and covertness. Otabek just hopes that Yuri wouldn't pull off his skates and threaten to stab his pulse point with the toe pick when he finds out. 

Yuri comes into clearer focus as Otabek slides on his glasses. Potya is blocking Yuri's chest, meowing as Otabek waves at her. 

" _Your parents called_."

His smile washes away like a windshield wiper on glass, "What."

" _Your dad Skyped me, he told me to tell you that those American tests are coming up soon and you should buckle down and study instead of running around the world_ ," Yuri tries to hide the hurt in his eyes, but Otabek sees through it anyway, " _I didn't know you were going to the States instead of England._ "

"Zhanym," He quickly says, "I'm not going there, my dad likes the idea of me going there, but I don't want to. You know how they are."

" _Sports medicine not good enough for them?_ "

"Can you imagine me working as an engineer? I can't even draw a triangle."

" _Yeah, you clearly earned your art skills from your mom,_ " Yuri points to their bedroom wall where Otabek had taped a birthday card where she'd tried to draw him, his stick figure looking like a potato instead.

"Hey, she tried her best and that's what counts."

Yuri laughs, teeth showing as Otabek burrows deeper into his blanket and smile softly at the screen. He likes it best when Yuri is happy.

 

He skates to the barriers and grabs his phone, brushing his wet bangs out of his forehead as he sees another miss call from his parents. That would be about the IELTS and TOEFL he should be sitting in right now.

Otabek turns his phone off and skates wide circles as he waits for the music he's practicing with to loop back.

 

_Prague_

Emil winks at him when he climbs into his car, "Chris filled me in, your secret is safe with me."

"Thanks," Otabek smiles and snaps his seat-belt on, defrosting his fingers as he waves it in front of the heaters, "Is your coach okay with it?"

"Oh yeah," Emil snorts, "He was sold when I told him how you wanted to surprise Yuri. He's a total romantic at heart."

Otabek smiles as the rain splatter the windows, sweating. If Yuri knew the inklings of Otabek's plan to announce his comeback, Yuri would kill him several times over in a fit of rage. There might be wrestling. Otabek would definitely spend a night on the couch. 

In Prague, he meets up with a composer he's been following since he was a teen and commissions him, drafting sample melodies as they both work together on what would be his short and free program for next season. 

_St. Vitus Cathedral_ , he updates his Instagram on a day exploring the town on foot. He visits tourist shops and peruses through the available postcards, buying several this time and writing out what he's currently up to. One for his aunt and uncle, one for Zarina, one for Yuri, one for JJ and Isabella, one for Seung-gil, one for Phichit and one for Leo.

To his old Coach Denis, he sends some Becherovka, wrapping the bottles in generous amounts of bubble wrap.

 

_Moscow_

"Good morning."

Yuri blinks at where he's standing at the entrance of their bedroom, sleepy-eyed.

Otabek is holding a tray of breakfast and coffee, smiling as Yuri rubs his eyes, once, then twice before gasping and flinging his sheets away.

"Holy shit!"

" _Wait! Wait!_ "

Once the tray is safely on the floor, Yuri jumps into his arms, hugging Otabek with every single muscle of his body, squeezing and squeezing as he tries to fold his long limbs into a shape Otabek can hold onto. The snow outside throws the apartment in a weird grey-white light but it's bright enough that Otabek could see Yuri sleeping in a familiar black sweater.

"Isn't that mine, zhanym?"

Yuri pulls back, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. That's one of the sweaters that Otabek buys a size up since Yuri's growth spurt, "And so if it is?" 

Otabek nips at the skin near Yuri's throat, both of them falling down onto the bed, their clothing tossed aside.

He makes a short visit to Moscow before Yuri heads off towards the Russian Nationals with another Grand Prix gold under his name. They spent a good chunk of the morning watching the snow fall, snuggled up under layers of blankets as the coffee grows cold. It didn't matter anyway, the waffles are good cold and Yuri feeds him some strawberries by hand, curling his toes into Potya's winter coat where she's snoozing at the foot of their bed, covered under the duvet.

"There's been a change of plans," Otabek starts, feeling Yuri stiffen in his arms.

"Good change or bad change?"

"...Bad for you, I can't make it to Worlds."

"Oh," Yuri says, sadness echoing his words. Otabek can't see his expression, but he could imagine it clearly. "That's okay. What's holding you up?"

"They want me to take a test— Exeter's considering me."

He's lying through his teeth but he figures that he might as well take advantage of their current position. He hasn't sent his application to Exeter University, nor is he actually going there for sports science.

"Beka, that's great!" Yuri twists in his arms and kisses his mouth, pulling back with a pleased expression. "You should study hard."

"I will, Zarina's lending me some texts that she thinks will be useful," He feels some knots at Yuri's lower back and works at it, watching Yuri slowly turn into putty. "I leave in a few days," He quietly murmurs.

"Mmm," Yuri grunts. Otabek blows into his ear and gets a pinch on his side for that. Yuri's hips are covered with bruises from falling on ice, tension bleeding out of the muscles. "Proud of you."

"Really?"

Yuri doesn't hear him, slipping soundlessly into a short nap. As a deep sleeper, he doesn't wake up when Otabek untangles their limbs together to clean the apartment and wash his clothes, the laundry machine doing its best to keep up with Otabek's demands.

He takes this moment to sneak out a familiar costume from the bottom of his drawers, slipping it into his suitcase. Potya eyes him knowingly before trotting out of the living room with her tail held high.

Otabek scribbles Yuri a short note, saying that he'll be out to get some groceries.

Yuuri blinks at him when Otabek shows up at the Katsuki-Nikiforov residence, "Otabek!"

"Otabek?" Victor's disembodied voice echoes as Yuuri tugs him inside where it's warm. Otabek stomps off the snow stuck to his boots as Victor launches himself down the flight of stairs and gasps, "It is you!"

He greets his old coaches, pushing a bag of souvenirs to them as they coo and fix him a drink of hot chocolate. Victor receives Chris's package that Otabek carried with him to Prague, and Phichit had given him Yuuri's gifts in promise that he would take excellent care of the goods. Because he has nothing for Makkachin, he allows her to drool on his lap as he scratches her ears to the best of his abilities, listening to her owners ooh and ahh.

"Where to next?" Victor asks, smiling. "You've visited a lot of places, Yuri shares the pictures with us."

"To Nikolai," Otabek says, "Then to my family in Florida before going to Barcelona for Worlds."

"Oh, that's good to hear, Yuri would love to see you support him," Yuuri is almost doing the heart smile thing Victor always seems to do.

"No, I'm skating there."

"Eh?" Yuuri swivels to Victor, "Skating?"

Victor seems as dumbfounded as Yuuri is, "You're coming back?"

Otabek grins, "Surprise?" He laughs when his old coach gasps, excitement glittering in his eyes as Victor squeezes Yuuri's arm. "I don't have enough time since Kazakhstan isn't hosting nationals this year, so I'll be aiming my comeback next season. Please keep my surprise at Worlds a secret from everyone else. Only Chris and Emil know."

Victor shoots him a dubious look, "You're keeping secrets from Yuri again?"

"...I have it all planned out," He offers weakly under Victor's protective aura stabbing his conscience. "I promise."

Yuuri is his saving grace, "Let him be Vitya, he knows better now," To Otabek, Yuuri beams at him, "Should we start planning a training regimen for you before your flight?"

 

He hobbles off the overnight train on stiff legs and makes his way through the sleepy small town where Nikolai lives, trying to defrost his frozen organs with scalding coffee as he waits for the sun to properly rise before knocking on the door.

It opens several seconds later, "Otabek," Nikolai says, looking left and right as the door widens, expecting to see his grandson jump out from a bush yelling surprise. "Where's Yuri?"

"He's back at the rink practicing for—"

"—Russian Nationals," Nikolai grumbles, shuffling him in, "Right. I need to set a reminder. Can you do it on that mangled touchscreen thing Yurochka gave me?"

"Of course."

Otabek recounts his travels to Nikolai, who listens with an almost eager expression since he's too stiff to sit on a plane to travel to Thailand or Guangzhou as Otabek helps him clean the house a little, fixing the leaky sink and bringing things up and down from the dusty attic. Otabek turns on the wifi router and sends his pictures to Nikolai's iPad, setting up the reminder for Russian Nationals as Yuri's grandfather flip through the pictures slowly, amazed.

"I used to train there in Colorado Springs," He says at a picture of Garden of the Gods, "With Leo."

Nikolai swipes to the next picture, one of Leo and Otabek posing with sunglasses on the summit of a tall mountain, smiling.

"Did you have fun?"

"I did."

"Have you thought about what you're going to do next?" Nikolai stretches on his couch, pulling a face when something cracks, "Which university did you apply for again?"

Otabek takes a deep breath, "I'm going to compete again, university can wait a little bit longer."

A dog barks outside. There's a faint chug of traffic coming in from the slight crack in the kitchen window.

"...Your parents okay with that?"

"Probably not," He admits, "But I can support myself just fine."

He's always been alone, an ocean and kilometers of distance separating him from his true home. It's made him independent at a young age, but he thinks about those frayed storybooks about the moon and stars, how he always eagerly looked forward to his parent's parcel. 

Nikolai looks at him with something like pity, the green of his eyes softening a fraction of a degree.

"I'm sorry your parents don't agree," His voice is low and quiet. Nikolai shuffles to a cabinet and pulls out several old albums Otabek hasn't seen before, "Come. Let's make that tea you brought from the UK and we can look through Yurochka's baby pictures as he terrorizes the neighbour's dog."

 

_Orlando_

His mother rushes up to him, wild curls flying behind her as she cradles her only son tightly, "Hello, Otabek."

"You're squeezing him to death, suiktim."

His mother shoots his father a scowl, "You're not welcoming at all, no wonder he doesn't visit us that often," Otabek settles back as the two bicker back and forth, dragging his carry on as remnants of some Christmas decor still lies tucked in the airport though January is well upon them.

"Hello," His father quips.

They pull out of the airport parkade and start the drive to Titusville, "Hi."

"Would you be okay spending a few hours by yourself?" His mother frets as they pass security checkpoints into the large NASA building, "We still have some things to finish up but you can walk around the Kennedy Space Center. Maybe go on one of those tours?"

"Sure, I haven't visited since I was little anyway."

His mother drops him off at the visitor's entrance, relieved, and drives further down where the research facilities are. 

Otabek puts his special lanyard over his head and grabs a map, ready to spend a few hours in the presence of air conditioning and exhibits.

He takes a picture next to a statue of an astronaut suit and sends that to Yuri before the day ends.

They have Mexican for dinner as he looks around the new house his parents had bought. The fridge is missing some family photos, as does the mantle above the electric fireplace even though it's warm in Florida all year round. The thermostat is currently set to sixty-four Fahrenheit. He tries to convert that to Celsius on jet-lag ridden brain.

More than once, his mother kicks his father's shins throughout dinner. Otabek knows this because she once missed and kicked his leg instead.

"So."

His mother shoots his father a warning look, " _Ruslan_."

"How is Yuri?" His father weakly says, probably because he'd gotten another kick to the shins.

"He's good, won another gold in Nationals."

"You didn't think about bringing him with you?"

"We went to Iceland last winter, and he has Worlds coming up."

"Bring him here next time, okay?" His mother beams, spooning some more guac on Otabek's plate. Like his aunt, she doesn't seem satisfied with how much food he's putting away, "We have Disneyland."

"Disney World," His father corrects. "I noticed that you didn't update us on your applications."

"Yeah, I didn't apply to any of the schools here and the deadline has passed," He says quietly, hearing the sharp inhale from his father as his mother stops chewing. 

His father speaks in a very calm voice, reverting to Kazakh, "I thought you said you would go to university."

"Not this year."

His father viciously cuts through a soft tortilla shell, "Otabek, you're twenty-two,  _the time has come for you to stop fooling around!_ " 

"What's so bad exactly," He nearly growls, "About being an athlete? Is it because I don't have a degree under my belt? Is it because it's not a stable career? Is it because you wanted me to follow in your footsteps and be someone who I'm not?"

"Otabek!"

"I don't want to get a degree right now, I want to go back to skating," He looks up from the green mush on his plate and sees his mother's stricken expression, her fork and knife shaking in the air. "This isn't a hobby or extra-curricular!"

"And how much are you making?" His father spits. "How will you take care of yourself?"

"I have endorsements and sponsorships!"

"Will that last? Will you continue to skate quads in your routine and avoid injuries?" 

"If I'm careful I have a couple more years," Otabek defiantly says, thinking of Victor's success even though he never went to school, of Yuuri's stories on how he juggled skating with his own degree. "I can support myself without you."

"Your skates and coaches and physiotherapists don't come cheap!"

"Then I'll get a part-time job if I have to when I go to school!"

" _Fine!_ " His father puts his utensils down, standing up, "Fine! Do what you want! But you take responsibility if it all fails! You always disobey me!" He storms upstairs.

Otabek, pulse still hammering, slides his attention to his pale mother.

She goes back to her food, carefully cutting her burrito into bite-sized chunks. Otabek avoids her eyes as he too, pokes a tomato, sliding it around his plate. 

He ends up washing the dishes and tossing the food waste into the green bin outside, where he bumps into a friendly grey neighbourhood cat with a white collar. With the moon faintly visible through the trees, he sits on the grass and watches as the cat walks circles around him.

The balmy temperature reminds him of Almaty in late spring, when his parents visited for the first time. The pavements had been warm to the touch— his father had poured over the work he brought with him and amused Otabek's decision of skating.

"Should I leave you alone?" His mother asks from the door. The cat stops circling him and dashes off into the bushes.

Otabek turns his head around, glancing up, "Don't you have work tomorrow?"

"I think my son would be more important than work. I can lose a few hours of sleep."

He shuffles over and watches his mother squat down into a similar position as he is, plucking a piece of long grass and fiddling with it. Their backyard is a little overrun.

"What are you thinking of?"

"Mowing your lawn." 

His mother laughs, "Besides that?"

"If Yuri's just waking up for practice."

"You smiled more when you befriended him," His mother plucks several dandelions, tying them into a flower crown or perhaps a long necklace, "Tell me more about him."

"...He likes cats. Cooking. His grandfather's affections. Nikolai dotes on him the most. His biggest competitor is himself, he's always trying to improve his personal best. I sometimes think he doesn't see the skaters in the senior circuit as competition because of that."

"Would you say he's self-centered?"

"No," Yuri isn't like that, Otabek remembers the way Yuri had been looking at Yuuri's routines when they were younger, "He likes to improve himself and move forward."

"You feel like you've been left behind."

The blow is close to home, "No, last season I didn't know what I wanted. I don't want to represent Kazakhstan and skate with half-hearted intentions. Everyone wanted me to keep going but I think what I needed back then was a break to find myself."

She raises her arms up and places the flower crown on his head, smoothing it. There are deep lines around her eyes, he thinks with a heavy heart, he really should have visited them more, "And did you find it? The will to break free and do whatever you want?"

That word again. He wonders if Zarina had been in touch with his mom recently, "I did. I miss the ice. And Yuri."

Though Almaty will always be his true home, the rink was also another place of comfort, one that he can find in every city he competed in, a reminder that though he is kilometers away with an ocean separating him, the ice is a familiar friend he could rely on whenever he uprooted.

His mother points at the moon, her voice having a dreamy quality of a storyteller's, "When I was little, I wanted to go up there," The stars reflect off her wide eyes, "But the chances of becoming a female astronaut were slim to none, so my second path was to help people get there."

"...Did you regret settling for second choices?"

"My second choice gave me the best thing in my life: you. I don't regret it, but I also don't want you to settle just because of some greater force."

He asks her a question that's been bothering him for a long time, "...Did he ever blame you for allowing me to skate?" 

Even thought his dad was the one who'd approved, it was his mother that had supported him afterwards.

"I never asked," She winces as she stands, shaking some feeling into her legs as the conversation officially comes to a close. He doesn't know if he'd accidentally stepped on a touchy subject, looking at her back, "Come inside, it's late. The bugs like to come out at night."

He follows her back in, not expecting to do anything but stare at his ceiling, but he promptly falls asleep before his head hits his pillow.

When Otabek wakes up, his parents are out and the sun is at its highest point in the sky.

He pokes around in their fridge and digs out some whole wheat bagels and cream cheese, popping two halves into a toaster oven to crisp as he replies to Leo's and JJ's text messages. He chews on his breakfast/lunch, raising his knees to his chest and hearing his kneecaps snap into place.

His parents arrive home to find him pushing the lawn mower into their garage, very sweaty and in need of a shower. His mother wrinkles her nose as he rushes past her, carrying home some groceries.

"Should I be glad that I never did your laundry?" She teases when he comes back down, a towel over his hair. Something in a pot is bubbling and his father is skimming over a crossword puzzle, sitting on the dining chair. 

"I did it all myself anyway, spared Aunt from the horrors."

She pinches his cheeks and smiles, turning back towards the stove.

There wasn't any subtle shin-kicking during dinner tonight. He almost feels at ease if it weren't for the glances his mother shoots over to his father.

"Beka."

"Yes?"

His mother sweeps the table clear, dumps their dishes into the sink and yells something about buying ice cream from the grocery store two blocks down, the front door slamming after her.

Otabek turns to his father and sees pain etched all over his face. He digs his toes onto the cool wooden floors, wondering if he'd left his slippers in the upstairs bathroom by accident. 

"She set me up."

"I can see that."

His father sighs, "Do you want some tea?" Not waiting for an answer, he shuffles off into the kitchen as Otabek, having no choice, follows several steps behind. 

There had been a time where he felt small in the presence of his father's gaze, dark eyes questioning his worth, but he stands tall now.

Otabek hands him a USB stick, "Have a look at it."

His father raises an eyebrow but takes it, walking over to his bag and pulling out a hefty looking laptop. Their teas sit on the dining table as Otabek watches the numbers, the statistics, the bar graphs pop up.

"All of my skating fees, rink fees, physiotherapists visits, equipment costs, airline fares, food and boarding. Summer camps and costume fees. Commissions from composers I like. My choreographers."

His father looks at another slide, this time coloured green.

"All my winnings since I was in the junior circuit," Otabek remembers the day he stood next to Denis, blinking down at the cheque written for him, "Money I made from brand endorsements and magazines. Sometimes, a network will pay me when I talk to them."

He was nothing when he was eighteen. The real money had came in after he started cinching gold after gold, battling for that podium position in his second year of the senior circuit. Then everyone wanted to know his name, wanted a piece of him, wanted to know what it is that makes him love skating so much.

So he shared it with the world for a price, bargained and fought tooth and claw as the ads ran on televisions and glossy magazine spreads. He appeared on national television, shook hands with important ministers from Kazakhstan and promoted skating. 

His father taps the track-pad, reading the screenshots of the emails Otabek received. Invitations to speak at events, to say hello to young skaters, young male skaters especially. Offers from various rinks around the world to teach a masterclass or be a temporary coach for the upcoming off-season. An inquiry from JJ whether he wants to travel around Canada and put on charity shows,  _it'll be like old times!_  An official asking if him to be an ambassador for Almaty in the Olympics.

Another tap. This one shows a future trend of the money he'll be receiving if he stays as a skater.

"I could save for my own bachelor's given some time."

His father stays quiet, tapping back and forth between the figures, reading every little footnote and even looking at the calculations and his Excel spreadsheet. 

Otabek blows the steam away and takes a sip of the strong blend, watching the sun setting on the walls. He doesn't allow himself to hope, because hope was a dangerous feeling to have whenever it came to his father.

His father takes off his glasses and rubs a hand, looking weary.

"I was wrong."

Otabek looks away from the wall.

His father nods slowly, "I owe you an apology."

The world doesn't tilt on its axis, but Otabek feels like his brain might have been tilting anyway, throat thickening as his father lumbers up and takes the mug away from him and holds his hands, his wedding band pressing against Otabek's fingers.

"I am sorry,  _ulym_."

They don't hug or cry, but Otabek squeezes back and swallows with difficulty.

His mother is smiling when she comes back from the grocery store with two cartons of ice cream, a knowing look as she happily serves them dessert.

 

_Hasetsu_

He settles down at Yu-topia for the reminder of the month until Worlds is upon him. 

"Don't drop that leg," Minako uses the stick end of a broom as he strains to hold his position. Back in Russia, he had Yuuri to help with his flexibility and off-ice sessions. Even though Chris was good at pointing out his mistakes, he's not a dancer.

He disappears off social media.

Yuri understood the reason; he's to be studying in Zarina's flat in preparation for his 'exams', so to go off into a hole and not update his Instagram or Twitter is normal. To fool him, Otabek had asked his cousin to send in pictures of random things in her apartment and also of the London skyline in different angles and hours of the day. 

Meanwhile, Hiroko is stuffing his luggage with goods, snacks and souvenirs to bring back to her son as Otabek shovels snow from the pavement and yard. He might need to get a second luggage soon if she keeps on sending him disarming smiles.

Yuuko, on the other hand, had been mortified when her triplets snuck into Ice Castle after hours and found Otabek practicing.

The one in purple is raising a fuss. The one in blue is holding onto her camera like it's her lifeline while the one in pink is standing in front of her sister trying to block Yuuko from reaching over and swiping the damning evidence that Otabek is in fact, not in London preparing for an exam, but in Japan.

He skates over to the blue one, crouching down to her level as the pink one bares her teeth at him, "Lutz."

"Yes?" She asks, teary.

"Why don't I record a special interview for your blog—" All triplets gasps while Yuuko deflates a little more, "— _but_ , you have to keep that video hidden until the end of Worlds."

He is a master at bargaining. Guang Hong taught him his ways. In some ways, this is similar to when he has to wiggle his way out of watching hockey night with JJ when they were younger.

"We can upload this?"

"Only after Worlds is over," He pauses, "I could probably get you all tickets to Barcelona."

At the ultimate bribe, the triplets cheer in victory and relinquish their camera to their mother, who looks harassed and peeved but thankful at Otabek's offer of tickets. Yuuko shoos them out of the rink and sighs, looking down at the video of Otabek working on his quad salchow, triple toe, double toe combination. 

"You didn't have to, Otabek-kun."

"It's not a problem," He smiles, "They've never been abroad have they?"

"No, I suppose I should get their passports in order now. Will you be okay for the evening?"

He nods, waving to her goodbye as the track above his head loops back towards the beginning. His head is feeling a lot clearer these days after visiting his parents.

 

_Barcelona_

" _How was the exam?_ "

Otabek struggles to pull his carry-on, buried under several heavier luggages as the carousel continues to spin. The airport is hot, the air conditioning malfunctioning, and he's tired and sweaty, "Oh it was good. I aced it."

He can hear Yuri exiting the hotel, screams of fans piercing his ear as he pulls off his black bomber jacket for a bright green hoodie, white cap and gold-tinted sunglasses. The colours, he reasons, will confuse the reporters since his trademark go-to outfits are monochromed. He spots Coach Denis hiding behind a pillar and speed walks over to him.

" _Nice! Hey, this means you can catch the exhibition!_ "

"I am, I have my laptop all set and ready. Zarina got off her lab early so she's also catching it with me."

Coach Denis fixes him with a lifeless expression as they make their way out of the airport's side entrance. There's already a cab waiting for them and Otabek hustles into the back as quietly as possible, the driver shooting off.

He and Yuri exchange a couple more words before Yuri's shuttle bus arrived at the rink where he ends the call.

"Thank you for going through all this trouble," Otabek says to his coach, whose eyes slides over to him like Otabek is the sole cause of his misery.

"Victor has rubbed off on you. Do you know how hard it was to convince the ISU to allow a retired skater in the exhibition gala?"

"To be fair, Yuri's exhibition is also my exhibition."

Denis just sighs, defeated. It only takes him several seconds before his old coach nods off. Otabek wakes him up when they pull up to the hotel where all the skaters are staying, bumping into several juniors who gape at his presence.

He takes a shower to wash the grime of travelling off before packing his costume and skates, running down as he and Denis take a taxi to the arena.

Coach Denis hands him an inconspicuous dark blue jersey that might have resembled Team USA's to sneak pass the throng of fans clustered around the arena, waiting for the second half of the gala to begin. Once he's properly backstage, he shrugs it off and ducks into the men's changing room.

"It's empty."

Victor pops out of nowhere, winking, "Thanks to yours truly!" When Otabek flinches and startles, Victor taps his wristwatch as Denis runs off to his proper place in the audience, "Let's go! You still haven't warmed up or stretched or skated!"

Someone is hissing from the outside, " _SHHH!_ " 

"Sorry, Chris!"

Otabek changes into his costume before being ultimately dragged to a large counter off to the side of the change rooms where the sinks are. He sees a large black box and groans when Victor starts pulling out concealers in different shades and eyebrow spoolies.

"Victor, I don't think I need concealer."

"You're right, you need bronzer to show off those cheekbones," Victor gasps, looking horrified.

" _What?_  What is it?"

"Your hair is hideous! Chris! Bring me my emergency hair box!"

"Is this really the time to fuss about my hair?" Otabek runs his hand through it. The shaved sides are a little outgrown but it's not that noticeable. Besides, he still hasn't stretched or warmed up yet; that's a more pressing matter.

Chris walks back in with a small black mesh bag and a hair dryer, giving Otabek a sympathizing clap on his shoulder before standing guard outside the change rooms. 

Victor glares at him.

Otabek wordlessly shrugs out of his shirt as Victor wraps a towel around his throat and plugs the clipper into the wall. He relinquishes his head and sits back quietly, watching Victor clean his undercut. As this goes on, Otabek starts stretching his calves, rotating his ankles and going through last season's exhibition skate from the beginning to end in his head.

Once Victor's done, Otabek scoops some pomade and rubs it between his palms, working it frantically through his hair while Victor sweeps their area clean. He puts his shirt back on and pulls the suspenders of his costume back up, running alongside Chris as he keeps an ear on the announcements while warming up.

The rink is dark in exhibition galas, the only light coming from the strips of light the ground crew had tacked on the edges aside from the spotlights. He sends a text to Yuri when Mila skates off the ice,  _good luck!!_

The reply is swift, ♥.

With his heart pumping loudly, he hands the skipping ropes back to Chris and takes a deep breath, the cold air of the rink permeating through the thin costume to chill his skin.

" _Please welcome our last performance, representing Russia and the gold medalist of this year's World Championships, Yuri Plisetsky!_ "

Yuri skates forward, waving, spotlight highlighting his gold-spun hair. 

Otabek runs now, passing a surprised Mila and several delighted skaters in the senior circuit who shouts his name, others searching for his head in the darkness. The cheers and claps fall on his ears, he misses this, he thinks, stepping onto the ice, this is where he feels most at ease.

He's home.

Someone shines a spotlight on him, and Yuri turns around to see what's going on before his eyes widens.

"Beka!"

" _Ladies and gentleman, please put your hands together for a very special gala performance!_ " The announcer thrills, " _After taking a season off, he has announced that hes returning to the ice more inspired than ever! Skating to Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue with our gold medalist, he is the three time world champion, representing Kazakhstan, Otabek Altin!_ "

 

After everything dies down, after Otabek answers calls from Zarina, his aunt and uncle, and his parents, he stumbles from the banquet holding Yuri in tow.

"You're not drunk, are you?"

"Might or might not have ripped a toenail earlier in the short program," Yuri winces, collapsing on his bed as the mattress springs him back up. Phichit and the others are still wildly partying, but Otabek played the jet-lag card and shuffled off, looking for some well deserved sleep.

"You weren't in London after all?"

Otabek spits the toothpaste into the sink as Yuri strips the suit off, shrugging off the jacket, loosening the tie, and unbuttoning the dress shirt. Their eyes meet in the mirror before he rinses his mouth and walks back out to the main room, "No, that was a lie to hide all the preparations, I'm sorry. Maybe London will happen in a few years."

Yuri sighs and slips into bed. Otabek follows and burrows into Yuri's arms, the sheets cool around them. 

"I thought something was up. There was a smudge of concealer on the blanket after you left."

He winces, "I had a couple of falls. I tried to cover them up so you wouldn't notice the bruising. Are you mad? I would understand if you are."

Yuri's hand is in his hair, stroking the longer strands as his nails dig into his scalp a little, "Well, I  _was_ surprised," Otabek raises his head a little to see him glare and pout, "Just don't hide important things like that again." 

There's one thing that he definitely needs to hide from Yuri in the future. It involved a ring, but he's in a good place in life right now. He wants to cherish this a little more, be true to himself and pick his own path. 

"I won't," He leans forward and kisses Yuri, "Right now I just want to skate with you."

He's hopelessly in love with him.

"Sap," Yuri says, smiling.


End file.
